Tokyo Puts on Fake Smiles

SECOND ACT: Visages and Faces

The Relativity of Sound

If there was one thing I had learned in my mere 24 years, it was to understand people's perspectives, to decipher their words. My work as a journalist allowed me to see the intrinsic relativity of each person's reality. They weren't fools; they thought about how to say what they said without saying more than they should. The truth was only ambiguous judgments told halfway.

Some nights I couldn't sleep, wondering how everything would have been if I had known how to enter the black, dark, forbidden zone of Makoto's reality. If I had managed to understand his perspective, his relativity.

Reason wasn't reason, reality wasn't reality, and relativity is a smiling mask that hides the word "criticism" underneath.

☻☻☻

Stunned, I stared at the living room floor. I knelt down and picked up the bra, examined it, and finally nodded. It was 4 a.m., and there was only one explanation for it: my roommate had just violated rule number 22 stipulated in our tenant agreement.

"How did I end up like this?" I sighed.

For the past three weeks, I had been living in my old apartment with the newly discovered star of the group Mystical Key, Miyazaki Kazuhiro. After two years of exploitation and an existential and professional quest, I had returned to the city that had broken my heart, intending to retrieve the life that love had stolen from me. But I hadn't counted on the existence of a new roommate, and despite not clicking at first, we decided to live together under the condition of drafting a tenant contract.

However, Miyazaki kept breaking the rules. He left his clothes and trash all over the apartment, stole food from my shelf, brought people over without my consent, touched and moved my things, and, of course, brought girls with whom he had sex for hours on end. Yes, I had gone from crying over my unrequited love to yelling at a famous jerk.

Unable to suppress my rage any longer, I got up from the floor, clenched the clothes in my hands tightly, and ran towards Miyazaki's room. Furious, I kicked the door open, and upon seeing him asleep, curled up with an unknown woman, I threw the bra onto the bed where they slept. "Idiot, what have I told you a thousand times? You're a disaster, horrible, horrible, horrible, horrible, horrible!" I took a breath. "Die!" At my sudden outburst, both woke up.

The girl blushed upon seeing me, and, quickly, clutched the sheets to her body, crossing her arms. Miyazaki, sitting up, merely dodged as I continued throwing objects within my reach: his phone, slippers, pants, the remote control, his jewelry box.

"22, no relationships at home without informing the other party beforehand!" I threw one of his toiletry bags aiming at his stupid face, but in vain. "Is it that hard to understand?"

"There wasn't time, besides, what are you doing coming back at 4 a.m.?" he asked, scratching his neck.

I clenched my teeth, balling my hands into fists. "Don't you pretend you care... Work is tough, you know?"

"Kazuhiro, I..." the girl, faking an awkward smile, finally addressed Miyazaki, who, with an indifferent look, sighed, picked up the bra from the bed, and handed it to her.

☻☻☻

The next morning, I rushed to the bathroom with my makeup bag. I had to cover my dark circles no matter what; I only had half an hour to get to the office. A subtle, sophisticated makeup, combined with a simple updo, made me the best in terms of presentation.